


Across the Hall

by newbie93



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:01:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newbie93/pseuds/newbie93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU in which Derek is a Home Ec teacher with a crush on the English teacher across the hall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across the Hall

It starts with the most adorable cookies she’s ever seen.

She sneaks away from the other faculty members during lunch and returns to her classroom in the hopes of grading a few essays before the weekend. She notices them immediately because they add a brightness to the otherwise dull classroom. They’re sitting in a neat little pile on her desk, carefully stacked atop one another. She picks one up and examines it. The little apple cookies are perfectly frosted with various hues of red blending to match her favorite Red Delicious.

She bites into it and can’t help the excited squeal that escapes her mouth. It’s the best thing she’s ever tasted and she is suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of warmth. She transports herself to her time as a little girl, running around in the backyard with her best friend, escaping the fall chill through warm cookies and warmer hot chocolate. She and Kali would chase her mother around the house, begging for more of the famous sugar cookies and playfully grappling for the last few crumbs. Her fondest memories involve sugar cookies and suddenly, sitting alone in her classroom, she smiles for the first time since learning her mother would never make a cookie again.

She glances towards the door, hoping there might be some clue for her to follow, some indication of who left her these little treats. The halls are empty, as they always are during lunch, and all she sees is the light of the Home Ec. room across the hall. She sees a shadow bustling about and she lets herself hope that the surly man behind the door, the man whose smiles are more fleeting than her own, was responsible for the delicacies.

And when Stiles Stilinski comes in next period and says, “Oh! You got the cookies,” she doesn’t admit that her heart sinks a little.

\---------

It starts with the dumbest idea he’s ever had.

He sees her, sitting at her desk across the hall, everyday. She is bright, and carefree, and the most passionate woman he’s ever seen. She exudes confidence, though when he notices her catch her reflection in the mirror, he concludes that she can’t quite see what he can. There’s a strength and passion that comes out when she’s with her students. He hears her when she dictates plays and literature to her students. She speaks of playwrights and authors with an intensity that overwhelms him. He often finds himself entranced by her words, captivated by her ability to communicate the lost languages and ideals that he has never understood. She’s the most intimidating woman he’s ever met.

Her smiles used to come easy but he notices that, in recent weeks, they are far more fleeting, and far less genuine. He’s never spoken to her, he’s far less gifted with words than she, but he feels an intrinsic need to help her. To fix whatever’s been broken.

He’s not articulate, he never has been, but he can bake like no one else. So one day, when he knows he has the time, he prepares a batch of cookies. He studies the apples of the season, examines everything about the fruit, and makes sure the frosting is just right. He goes through two-dozen cookies before he makes the perfect batch. The perfect cookie for the perfect girl. But, as he tries to work up the courage to walk ten steps across the hall, he realizes that she’ll probably never get them, that the courage will never come and the perfect cookies will just join their lesser counterparts in the trash.

So when Stiles, who’s spent a full semester teasing him about his crush on the English teacher, strides into the room offering to deliver them in secret for extra credit, he gladly changes the B to an A.

\------------------

It’s the last day before Christmas break when the apples stop coming.

She doesn’t even bother eating with her peers today. She simply walks into the faculty room, takes her packed lunch from the fridge, and politely smiles as she quickly exits. She walks into her room just as Stiles is walking out. He flails at the sight of her, knocking her down in the process, and yelps in surprise. Her lunch is all over the floor and she is suddenly grateful that her love of Ziploc bags has protected it from any real damage. Stiles is next to her babbling about how sorry he is but, after months as his teacher, she is able to tune most of the gibberish out and focus on the key words.

She’s reaching for her apple when another hand beats her to it. She meets his eyes as his other hand helps her to her feet. It’s a moment rife with every cliché she’s heard of. Her heart races, she can’t focus on anything else, and she’s suddenly at a loss for words. His hand is still firm on her own and, as she glances down at it, he suddenly rips it away. He shoves the apple into her bag and turns on his heel, closing the door to his room before she’s able to thank him.

Stiles is rolling his eyes and shaking his head beside her. He catches her staring, quickly apologizes again, and bolts down the hall.

She walks into her own room, sits at her chair, and lets herself close her eyes. It takes a few seconds to regain the little composure she has, and when she finally opens her eyes, she’s met with the sight of the most incredible gingerbread house she’s ever seen.

\--------------

It’s the last day before Christmas break when Stiles says she’s probably sick of the apple theme.

He’s tried to change things as often as possible. Apple pies, cobblers, strudles, croissants. He’s done a bit of everything, always in the hopes that she’ll eat them with a smile. He’s never been someone who seeks attention, he’s gladly baked without a desire to be credited. But every time Stiles comes in to tell him what her reaction was, he wishes he could have just seen it for himself.

He’s only ever wanted to make her happy, so when Stiles reprimands him for his lack of diversity, he panics. He worries that she’s grown tired of the treats, that she’s really just humoring whoever leaves them for her. He doesn’t know what to do.

He glances across the hall, quickly scans her room, and takes note of how festive and cheerful it has become. There are lights and decorations strewn throughout and he can’t help but note how it contrasts with the plain stainless steal that he is surrounded by. He’s suddenly hit with inspiration and grabs ingredients he hasn’t mixed together since he stopped celebrating Christmas.

The walls are held together with the thickest of frosting, and every inch of the house is decorated with the various candies he’s seen her sneak when she thinks no one is looking. The candy canes are put in place just as Stiles walks through his door. The boy claps in delight and hunches over to take in every detail of the house. The boy smiles and claps him on the back as he picks up the treat and leaves to deliver it.

He’s pacing back and forth, anxious to hear Stiles’ report, when he hears a crash outside. He runs to the door and sees her on the floor, grabbing at what looks to be her fallen lunch. Stiles is so wrapped up in apologizing that he does very little to help make up for whatever he did to cause the incident.

He spots the apple on the floor and picks it up while simultaneously lifting her off her feet. He wasn’t thinking. Her eyes meet his own and he can feel his heart double in pace. He’s grateful when she glances down at his hand because it gives him the opportunity to make an exit before she notices the red blush that has spread across his face.

When Stiles comes in next period to tell him how she put the gingerbread house next to her little Christmas tree his head is still in his hands. Stiles pats him on the back for the second time that day and tells him to lighten up and quit being a Grinch. He wants to but doesn’t think it’ll happen anytime soon.

\----------------

It’s her birthday when everything clicks.

She’s sitting in her classroom when she hears what sounds like an explosion from across the hall. The ‘Goddammit!’ that follows has her doing something that she’s been longing to do for months. She rushes across the hall and bursts through the door of the room.

Her mouth drops when she catalogs everything she sees.

He’s standing above the stove with a fire extinguisher glaring at what looks like a pot of burnt sugar. He looks absolutely furious and she suddenly worries that he might actually start yelling at the pots. The image is enough to send her in a fit of giggles and when his head whips towards her the giggles turn into genuine laughter. The bright red ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron that he’s wearing has done nothing to protect him from whatever ingredients he’s been baking with. He’s covered in flour and it’s a sight that she does everything to memorize.

His eyes meet her own and her chuckles die down because his face suddenly transforms into one of anguish and pure sadness. “I can’t believe I ruined the sugar. I took my eye off it for one second to finish the frosting and it’s totally ruined now! I just… I just wanted to make something special this time. And… and I wanted you to know it was from me.”

She looks at whatever creation has caused him to be so despondent and gasps when she sees it. The cake is beautiful. The bright greens that she loves combined with the warm golden browns that remind her of her favorite tree in her backyard. There are images along the side and she walks closer to get a better look.

They’re tiny, and most people wouldn’t understand their significance, but she catalogs every miniature version of the treats she’s found on her desk for the past few months. They’re exact replicas and she lets the hope she’s been squashing for months come bubbling to the surface. The top of the cake has half of a crystalized apple, missing only the stem and leaf, which she assumes is what lays charred at the bottom of the pot on the stove.

She’s in awe and she can’t stop the hot tear that slides down her cheek. It’s the most beautiful cake, the most beautiful anything, that she’s ever seen. It’s so uniquely her that it leaves her stunned.

She raises her eyes to meet his own and she is suddenly confused. He looks so ashamed and embarrassed. She wants to tell him how much she loves it, how much it means to her, but she can’t seem to find words that will do it justice. She settles for the best she can muster. “I love it.”

Suddenly he is the one who looks stunned, as though he can’t believe what she is saying to him. “I didn’t even finish it! The apple isn’t done and I didn’t even get to pipe the writing on it!” He’s flustered and adorable and not anything like the surly man her students have told her about.

“So finish it. Write whatever it is you were going to write.”

He looks at her skeptically, crinkling his forehead as he struggles with whatever internal debate he is having with himself, and she waits for any sort of reaction. She sees when the switch is flipped because he straightens up, grabs a bag of frosting, and turns his back to her. He works meticulously and after a minute he places the bag back on the table, picks up the cake, and presents it to her.

Happy Birthday Jennifer  
P.S. I Like You.  
-Derek Hale

She reads the inscription and laughs, pulling him towards her and swiping a bit of frosting on the only clean part of his face. He wrinkles his nose at the sensation and smiles down at her. And though her words are still failing her, and all she can manage through the delirium of her giddiness is, “I like you too,” they seem to be the greatest thing he’s ever heard.

\----------------

It ends with burning bread.

She walks into their apartment feeling more anxious than she has in her entire life. She twists the silver band on her left ring finger, a habit that she picked up from her husband during times of stress, and allows the nerves to consume her. She thinks she may be on the verge of a panic attack when she is suddenly assaulted by an intoxicating smell.

She walks into the kitchen, a room that is larger than most of the others in the house, and is greeted with a sight she’s grown accustomed to but will never tire of. He’s surrounded by pots and pans, ingredients she probably couldn’t even name, and every surface is covered in flour.

The white powder is in his hair, giving him silver streaks that she knows won’t be real for many years to come. The few patches of skin on his face that aren’t covered in flour are bright red from the heat of the oven. She allows herself a few minutes to simply observe him, to watch him in his element. She smiles as she realizes that she’s been doing the same thing since the day she was placed in the classroom across from the Home Ec. department.

The faded ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, which she refuses to let him get rid of, hangs over his neck and he bustles about, focusing only on his ministrations. He turns around, noticing her for the first time, and his look of concentration is immediately replaced with an easy smile. She matches it with one of her own and walks towards him, cautiously optimistic about the news.

He greets her with a warm hug and she mumbles into his chest that they need to talk. “Sure! Just give me a minute, I have some buns in the oven.” She grins at his choice of words and raises her eyes to meet his, “So do I. Well… just the one. But I’m pretty sure it’s a girl.”

He steps back and for a moment she fears that her happiness, her complete and utter elation, isn’t something that her husband will share. His eyes flit between her face and her stomach and before she can ask him what he’s thinking, he picks her up and twirls her around as tears stream down his face and laughter escapes his mouth. She joins in and, though they can both smell the buns that are burning in the oven, neither one of them cares.


End file.
